


Corkscrew

by bagelauthor



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: But Mostly Hurt, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, like it’s pretty gross, no beta we die like men, set in S1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26046631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagelauthor/pseuds/bagelauthor
Summary: Jon looked up from his wounded arm, his mind cloudy with terror, noticing the corkscrew clutched in Martin’s fist. He had been so caught up in his head, his mind swimming with the pain, the fear of Jane coming around the corner and finishing him off, that he had barely been paying attention the past 20 minutes.The spell broke, though, as Martin spoke his name, bringing him back to reality.The worms. Thousands of them. Tim, somewhere. Sasha screaming, And Sasha now standing at the other side of the room, wrapping a bandage around her bloody arm. And the corkscrew.The corkscrew.“What,” Jon breathed out, almost inaudibly.Martin just sighed, his eyes sad.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 67





	Corkscrew

**Author's Note:**

> yo so remember at the end of season 1 where martin had to de-worm sasha and jon? so what if it was like Ten Times Worse? idk i just wanted to write some gross gross gore!! but i snuck in some emotions too... anyways enjoy :)

“Jon, this is… this is gonna hurt.”

Jon sat on the cot in Martin’s makeshift home, his shoulder throbbing with the sensation right under his skin.

Squirming. Wriggling. Digging deeper into his flesh.

Jon looked up from his wounded arm, his mind cloudy with terror, noticing the corkscrew clutched in Martin’s fist. He had been so caught up in his head, his mind swimming with the pain, the fear of Jane coming around the corner and finishing him off, that he had barely been paying attention the past 20 minutes. 

The spell broke, though, as Martin spoke his name, bringing him back to reality.

The worms. Thousands of them. Tim, somewhere. Sasha screaming, And Sasha now standing at the other side of the room, wrapping a bandage around her bloody arm. And the corkscrew.

The corkscrew.

“What,” Jon breathed out, almost inaudibly.

Martin just sighed, his eyes sad.

“Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, Martin, you can’t-”

“I have to, Jon. I don’t know how else to get them out properly. And, and I’ve done it before, it’s safe. It’s nothing that stitches can’t fix, and I have a needle and thread in my bag-”

Jon cut Martin off, his words thick with panic. “I don’t care how safe it is, you’re not shoving that metal into my skin!”

“Jon, we have to do this,” Sasha said, her voice low and serious, her throat still raw.

Martin gestured to Sasha and her reassurance. “Jon, please, I don’t want them to get any deeper-”

“And I don’t want you to cut me any deeper than they’ve gone! I don’t want these holes in my skin, I don’t want that, I can’t, I, I don’t, I…”

Jon trailed off into a string of shaky mumbles, I don’t, and I can’t, his hand shaking as he clutched his shoulder, grimacing at the horrible, writhing feeling of worms burrowing into his muscle.

Martin let out a broken breath, one that was held in for far too long. “Jon,” he said, softly. When Jon stayed shaking quietly, curled in on himself, Martin said firmly, “Jon.”

Jon looked up at him, hand grasped around his shoulder so hard his knuckles were turning white. Graying hair fell into his eyes; his eyes watering behind his glasses.

He was terrified, and he looked pathetic.

“We have to do this.” Martin enunciated every word, trying to make Jon feel his urgency. He felt horrible about making Jon do this when he so didn’t want to, but what other choice did he have?

Jon stared at nothing, anything but Martin’s face. Anything but his eyes, always so soft and forgiving and kind but now so sad and hurt. Jon’s face was blank, on the other hand, his eyes glassy as he thought, a thousand ideas racing through his head, weighing his options.

“Yes,” is all Jon said; never moving his gaze from a fixed spot on the floor, never raising his voice up past a hoarse, terrified whisper.

Martin steadied his breath. He would need a steady hand, a steady mind. “Okay.”

Jon looked up at Martin, looking for a clue of what to do next. His eyes betrayed him, going straight to the corkscrew, Martin’s hand tight around the metal. Something to hold on to. To feel safe with. 

Martin let himself feel pity for Jon’s disheveled state for only a moment before he snapped back to reality. “Right, well, you should take off your shirt. S-so I can have access to the full area, I mean.”

Jon understood what he meant. He would roll up his sleeve if he could, but the vermin digging into his skin had made a home in his deltoids, far higher than where his sleeve would bunch up to. Plus, there was no time to feel shame for his body, not now. The fear of the corkscrew twisting into his skin had subsided, but now his biggest concern was getting the worms out of his body, no matter the method. Still shaking, he removed his jumper, throwing it to the side.

With the fabric out of the way, the three could easily see the damage the worms had caused, illuminated clearly by the fluorescent office lighting.

Little, silver worms, all of them digging slowly, steadily into Jon’s flesh. The holes they left behind were wide; gaping. Far wider than any hole someone should have in their skin. The tunnels they made were deep, and only getting deeper and deeper by the second.

And with the short, stunned silence that followed the terrible reveal, all three could hear the sounds of the worms eating Jon’s muscle.

Martin stared at Jon’s ever-worsening wounds, dumbfounded at the sight. He felt bile rising in his stomach - Sasha’s worms were nowhere near as bad as these. It’s almost as if all of Prentiss’ little friends were drawn to Jon instead of the other two, knowing he’d be tasty.

“Martin,” Sasha snapped, dragging him out of his daze. “Right, yup,” he said, walking towards Jon. A worm must have hit a nerve in his body, because Jon whimpered and grabbed his shoulder again, but Martin pushed it away.

“We need to do this. Now.”

Jon just nodded, mindlessly. He looked up at Sasha, holding her arms, her brows furrowed.

“Sasha, can you, uh, help?” Jon asked, embarrassed.

“Help how?” Sasha responded in the softest tone she could manage.

“Just, help,” he breathed. “I don’t know. I don’t want to be alone.”

She walked up towards him, swiping a roll of bandages as she went past. She ripped off a good length of the bandage and rolled it up, holding it in front of Jon.

“You can bite down on this, if you need it.”

He took the bandages, squeezing them in his hand, focusing on the resistance of the fabric, not the white-hot pain in his shoulder. 

“And…” Sasha said, quietly, holding out her hand.

Jon was confused. Should he hand her his glasses, so they don’t fall off during the procedure?

Then he realized.

Oh.

He took her hand and squeezed, hard. She squeezed back, and Jon felt safe, or as much as he could in that position, at least.

Martin had just finished gathering up a few tools, making sure everything he might have needed was within arm’s reach. He was ready.

Jon wasn’t. But then again, he would never be fucking ready for something like this.

He looked up at Martin and nodded.

Martin moved quickly, springing into action at the go he was given. He placed the corkscrew at the base of one of the holes, wasting no time in screwing it in steadily. Jon screamed, lurching back away from the tool but Sasha used her free hand to hold his shoulder steady. As quickly as it had begun, Martin had removed the parasite, now red with Jon’s blood, flinging it to the floor and stomping on it with a horrible squelch.

Jon barely had time to think before Martin had started on another hole, Jon crying out in both pain and surprise. Sasha only held his hand and his shoulder tighter, whispering gentle words into his ear; “it’ll be okay”, and “breathe, Jon”.

But he couldn’t breathe. The metal felt just how he thought it would feel as it ground into his tissue, ripping apart his flesh, and Martin pulled out another worm, and then another, and Jon could swear he heard the screams of the vermin as they were crushed to death, and he almost felt pity for them until the corkscrew was back in another hole and oh god it hurt and Sasha was saying something but he didn’t know what and the worms were screaming and it hurt so much 

And then it was over. There was blood all over Martin’s hands - was that there since he did Sasha, or is that all new? Martin was shaking, wiping his hands on his trousers and Sasha gave Jon one last squeeze of his hand before she let go and walked away. Jon was suddenly very aware of his lack of shirt, and reached for the crumpled jumper next to him. He whimpered as he stretched the muscle the worms (and Martin) had just shredded. 

“Oh, not yet, not yet,” Martin chided, “Stitches. Quick. They hurt much much less.”

Jon just sighed, too tired to protest. He dropped the stress-ball bandages he still held in his hand, and instead clutched his jumper tight to his body.

Martin didn’t lie - the stitches were nowhere near as bad as the corkscrew. But they still hurt, and he winced every time the needle entered or exited his skin. Martin wasn’t as panicked now, and was moving slower, even apologizing when he hit a particularly bad spot that made Jon yelp.

“Done,” Martin breathed, stepping back to give Jon his space. Jon sighed heavily, laughing humorlessly in sheer relief. He put his jumper back on, his hand brushing over his cheek - half-dried tears. Jon didn’t remember crying, but it certainly made sense. He pushed up his glasses and wiped away the wetness with the back of his hand. His shoulder still throbbed with stinging pain, but at least it felt still, with no writhing or burrowing, and he could trust that any worms he felt under his skin were only phantom parasites.

All three stopped and caught their breath for a minute, basking in the stillness. The fight was far from over - Jane Prentiss was still somewhere out there, with Tim in No Man’s Land, needing to be rescued; but at least one problem was solved, and all the worms were reduced to sticky puddles on the floor.

“How are you…” Sasha began. “Are you okay?”

“I think I need to lie down,” Jon whispered, his throat scratchy and dry. 

Sasha nodded concisely, walking over to Jon and handing him a nearby blanket. Realizing he had never left Martin’s cot, he simply layed down, assuming Martin wouldn’t mind. He kept his bloody shoulder up in the air, not wanting any unneeded pressure on the fresh wounds. Sasha pulled the blanket over him before he had the chance to do it himself, although he didn’t mind the help. Martin walked up, placing a bottle of water on the ground next to Jon. 

Martin looked at Jon’s tired face for a moment, his sad eyes returning. “I’m sorry,” is all he said.

Jon noticed the semi-healed scars on Martin’s skin. Did he have to do this to himself? Alone?

“It’s okay,” Jon breathed, the blood loss making his head heavy. “You did the best you could. You helped. Thank you.”

Martin half-smiled, though his sad eyes remained. He lingered near Jon for another moment before walking away, convening with Sasha at the other end of the room. They spoke about something, talking quietly, much too quiet for Jon to hear. He didn’t try to listen, he just let his eyes close and his mind drift off to sleep, welcoming rest, at last, with open arms.

And right before he slipped out of consciousness, he swore he felt a long, thin creature wriggling up, up into his arm.


End file.
